Reconaissance
by sorceress2
Summary: A James Bond-esque story line involving the cast of CCS. ExT, some SxS.


"Good afternoon gentlemen. You are all well, I trust?" A woman's voice filled the room, elegant and rich and precise, and irrevocably beautiful. There was the slightest hint of an accent in British English, yet even the speech analysists failed to identify its origin. A panel of men, in impeccably tailored suits and expensive linen shirts all, murmured in assent. Mr. Radcliffe, the senior official to be present, hastened to assure the small, silver speaker that all was well. Apparently, this informer was powerful.  
  
The London skyline, even in afternoon, was picturesque, and hazy through the city's congestion in the sleepy sun. An alertness in the room somehow negated that drowsy sun, and volumes of importance showed in the faces of the officials present. The room spoke of power and wealth, as well of position, as all of the senior British intelligence were present. They have another petty task for him, Eriol reflected absently. He adjusted his white- gold and diamond cuff links by rote, and assumed an attentive expression.  
  
The room, however rich and well-appointed, also had a large bevy of advanced communications equipment. Glowing LCD screens lined one wall, as a control panel of silvery buttons and switches were scrambling their trasmitter location at the moment. A gilding of technology very much complemented the rich leather and wood.  
  
"We thank you for your regards, Madam. Now, if we may concentrate on the issue at hand?" Mr. Carlton continued. He was pompous, with a formidable grey widow's peak and a black pinstriped suit. The room reeked of power. Eriol really did think that they overdid the kissing the proverbial bottom of this lady, whoever she was, wherever she was. Really, these gentlemen should not grovel for one woman.  
  
"Oh, yes. That issue. Yes, the Saudis have been most, shall we say, uncooperative with any Western missions, in particular your missions in their lands. Apparently, along with the smuggling of oil and illegal arms, there is also a large influx of smuggling of uranium ore, top grade, from Georgia, through Estonia and the Ukraine. It is getting into the hands of the Arab militants, Palestine and Saudi Arabia, mostly. There is little threat from the others in the area."  
  
The woman, whom was referred to as the Madam, seemed to throw around random reconaissance very well. Where on earth did she get these tidbits? Mr. Radcliffe looked slightly worried. That meant there was a significant risk, that they might blow up any moment. Eriol was surprised. So, the Madam seemed very authoritative on all subjects of national interest. Long live the Queen.  
  
"Yes, we have heard of that, Madam. That is why we have requested your presence today, here." Mr. Radcliffe told the speaker. The sun streamed into the room, lighting the bland faces of powerful men and fine mahogany. There was a rampant undercurrent of curiosity in the air, this being the first time that many of these men had ever spoken with, or heard the Madam. No one knew her name, though it was only a slight redressing of the balance that she did not know theirs. Mr. Radcliffe was known as the Thinker, and Mr. Carlton was known as the Alchemist.  
  
"What we ask for, is your help in tracking down the foremost uranium smuggler, based in Geneva, Switzerland, the Hague, Netherlands, Moscow, Russia, and Cologne, Germany. We have a gentleman here, that with your constant aid and supervision, will do what you ask of him, to find the smuggler ring, called the Black Circle."  
  
The high-tech speaker was silent for a moment.  
  
"This is more than you have ever asked before, Thinker. Before this moment, all I was to do was to supply the information that you need. Do you realize that it will take much time and energy to do this?" The Madam asked. Her voice was. contemplating. Eriol did not like it. It seemed as if she were a hawk contemplating a mouse. Radcliffe, that pompous old fool, hastened to assure her. His voice was commanding and fearless, filling the room as much as hers did.  
  
"It is upon our honor that we will do it with no endangerment to you or yours, and you can do as you will as long as you pose no harm to our man here, or ours. Do you agree to this?" The Madam still refused to draw conclusion. There was a thinking silence.  
  
"Let he who will be under my command speak, if he is present." The Madam said. She seemed to be testing the waters, gauging what sort of person he was. Eriol spoke for the first time.  
  
"Good afternoon, Madam." He was very careful to control his voice, make it perfectly neutral and never biased nor impassioned. There was a hint of confidence. He was willing to bet that despite the beautiful voice, she was probably very ugly to be wealthy and intellectual as she was. They would see who gauged who, then. If he could ever see her face. Eriol very much doubted it. She hid herself too well.  
  
"So, you have a young underling do your dirty work, Alchemist?" The Madam's voice was colored with amusement. Mr. Carlton flashed Eriol a cold stare. Was it his fault he sounded young? There were serious minuses to being the youngest of the British Intelligence.  
  
"Please do not be biased, Madam. He is one of our best, and brilliant. He will do anything that you ask of him, as we will give him his instructions." Mr. Carlton said to the speaker. His face was grave.  
  
"I am not biased, Alchemist. Just what makes you think that he will do what tasks that I have for him proficiently, if he is so young?" The Madam's voice was still rich with amusement.  
  
Mr. Radcliffe opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the Madam spoke again.  
  
"Very well, I suppose, Thinker. I know that you would have given me platitudes of this young man's genius for me, and I might as well jump in. Send him to Madrid Spain, on June the seventeenth. He will stay at the Rio de Grande Hotel, next to the Austrian Embassy. He may go to them if he is of need for help." Mr. Radcliffe thanked her profusely, and the rest of the listening panel sighed, nearly audibly with relief. Uranium was too easy to come by these days.  
  
"You have our eternal thanks, Madam." Mr. Carlton said. The Madam said nothing. Was she regretting her decision so soon? All eyes were on Eriol, but he did not let the burning gazes touch him.  
  
"By what name will the young man be called?" She asked. Mr. Radcliffe nodded his assent for Eriol to give the code name of choice.  
  
"Madam, my name is Janus." The Madam was silent still.  
  
"You are well versed in Roman mythology, I see?" she asked.  
  
"Not very." Eriol admitted. He could almost see her cocking her head to contemplate him, though she could not see him. Where was she on this earth, in Europe or Asia or the Americas? Where was she that she was contemplating him, and getting ready to give him the instruction to bring down the Black Circle? What was she doing, sitting, reclining, standing, as she set herself to pull the strings of the British government? Was she American, or European, or perhaps Asian?  
  
"Oh, and yes, there is a name by which you will know me as. I am called the Sorceress."  
  
"Very well," Eriol said. "then Sorceress it is."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Very James Bond-ish, wouldn't you say? Get geared for some action.  
  
Oh yes, and sorry for all those who are pestering me to finish For Your Sake. I just reread it, and boy does it suck. Wow. I never realized that.  
  
And let me let you into a little secret, concerning the plot of For Your Sake. THERE IS NO PLOT. Oh well. I don't really even know how to end it, so if you have any ideas, e-mail me at sorceress@usa.com. 


End file.
